


rounds

by paopuleaf



Series: death/gods/blaseball [1]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, POV Second Person, change and cycles v eternity in balance, ft. misc birds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paopuleaf/pseuds/paopuleaf
Summary: "you're checking up?""don't i always?""no," you respond, amusement light in your voice, and she laughs, raspy and full.-some musings, a talk between two gods of conflicting divine portfolios.
Relationships: Our Lady of Perpetual Fridays & The Olde One
Series: death/gods/blaseball [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023757
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	rounds

the beach is quiet. you settle yourself in the sand and let the waves lap at your feet, knowing they could come further up any time and swallow you whole. welcoming it, even. the grains stick in the folds of skin between your fingers, build up under your nails.

the birds settle on the palm trees around you. you don't have any food, so they take no interest, other than cursory glances to see if you've brought any out since the last time they looked. a second sun beats down on your shoulders - it's a shame, you muse, that the first one's gone. they were a friend, warm, and that wasn't just the light. the second one is much colder. thawing. getting used to it all.

a crow settles next to you, head tilting. its beak is slightly ajar, as if still holding something in it; you reach out and let it peck at your palm, noting the blood-red scars around its eyes. "you're nagomi's," you greet warmly, and it caws. "i'm sorry, you're not anyone's. you accompany nagomi, though, yes?" 

it shuffles across the sand and flaps its wings, talons digging slightly into your flesh as it settles on your knee. timeless. mcdaniel would not need a replacement - unless this one chose to leave - nor would she need to leave. "have you left someone else to take care of her, for the time?"

the crow ducks its head in a nod. presses its beak down, and yet it still won't close. you pinch it shut with two fingers, holding them there until it begins to shudder uncomfortably. let go. it hops backwards and retreats, eyeless sockets staring directly at you until it's out of view.

you hum. close your eyes. something comes out of the water, you know, and you wait until she's next to you to look. "lady friday," she says, chitin legs creaking as she maneuvers her vessel to sit, "are they doing well?" 

"sutton and montgomery are adjusting well enough. nagomi has a ways to go, though. she's been through much." you pause. let one of your hands fall onto the mother's left claw. "you're checking up?" 

"don't i always?" 

"no," you respond, amusement light in your voice, and she laughs, raspy and full. 

the mother's antennae twitches as she inhales, pulling her claw away and into her lap. "you know me too well." she looks towards the ocean, vessel softening into something more grieving. "i wish i had the energy to fight you." 

"they will not be gone forever. they are out of my domain, are they not?" 

"will they age?" 

"that does not go away so easy."

"i gathered as much," the mother says, "and i don't know if i was hoping for something different." 

you find yourself holding a can of natty boh, and you offer it to her - you're not sure which one of you summoned it, but you suppose one of you need it. "you are always free to visit yours, here. i will never stop you from that right."

"if they come back, the same extends to you."

"they will be different."

"doesn't everyone change? even here?"

"that they do." you hide a smile with a glass of your own, this one water, formed from will alone. "i am excited to see what has become of them, in their absence."

"and i suppose i'm excited to see how they've stayed the same." 

"let's not look in the mirror for too long, though, shall we?" 

the mother crab nods, low, an agreement, empathy. the crack of a tab. you both sit in silence until the sunset and the ocean engulfs your forms.

the beach is quiet, where you left behind. a memoir to the wards you've left, layered on top of blaseball, a safety net. nobody will find you, here, next time, although the mother's visit was not unwelcome. 

perhaps you'll find her, instead.


End file.
